01. that's right; well, i may have faked it.
On his first night without him, Mello finds the prettiest hooker he can.
The boy's jailbait, and he hardly looks legal, but Mello doesn't give a fuck because he has dark red hair that flops over his pretty green eyes. Gorgeous but expensive, and Mello realises that he'll have to give up chocolate for a while, but no chocolate is better than having MattMattMattMatt on his mind all the time.
And damn, the boy – Lawrence, or something like that; Mello wasn't really paying attention – really knows how to suck. His lips and tongue work together smoothly, and Mello thrusts blindly because for some fucking reason, even though he's hard and he wants it so badly, he's not feeling anything, but God he wants to, he wants to he wants to he wants to.
So he puts the boy out of his misery and tells him to stop for a while. Then shakily, he wraps his cold fingers around his cock, stroking and pumping himself. And when that doesn't work, he closes his eyes and imagines that the trembling hands belong to someone else, someone who tastes like cigarettes and sweat.
That's all it takes. He can't help the whisper that leaves his lips – "Matt…" – as he comes, the spasms racking through his shuddering body.
The boy's watching it all with a half-smirk, and for a moment Mello is tempted to punch him. He holds himself back – just – and instead, he presses the boy hard against the wall. Pinning him down with firm fingers, he attacks the soft lips, grateful when they respond against his.
From there, he loses himself. Somehow, in a blur of movement and moans, they end up on the bed, writhing against each other in pleasure. Mello's forcing himself not to think, and all he can comprehend is skin and heat and the annoying, incessant video game music playing in the back of his head, over and over and over and he doesn't even know how the fuck it got there.
His mistake is looking up.
After leaving a trail of small, sharp nips across a bare throat, his gaze flicks upward for just a second, but that's enough. A jolt hits him as he registers the unfamiliar face, the expression of ecstasy that's so different to the one he's used to seeing, and most of all, the eyes that are the wrong shade of green.
He almost throws up right there.
.
.
note:
title is from a panic! at the disco song; kudos to those who can tell me which one without cheating. and the name Lawrence is indeed the name of a pretty-boy prostitute; if you know where it's from, you get a prize. :)
okay, um. well, see, once upon a time, i loved only L. but then i was introduced to mello & matt, and after reading quite a few beautiful stories, i sort of fell in love with them. (i blame the awesome writers in this fandom entirely.) and so i had to keep reading and writing and obsessing over these two, because they're so tragic. reviews are love.